The Kindling Memories
by camlowe
Summary: [one-shot collection] [entry for the Bender Challenge] [fire] There are many small stories and moments that are so so warm they have to be shared along a cup of ginseng tea. -hiatus, info on profile.


**a/n: **I have decided to join the Bender Challenge created by alyssialui. If anyone is interested in joining there's link in my bio. For the challenge I have chosen the element of Fire, and just so you guys know, the stories will not have chronological order. If some thing follow another, it's a mere coincidence from my creativity and the prompts. It's fifty prompts, so expect fifty chapter. You should also give the other writers a read.  
><strong>btw: <strong>if you like this small one-shots, then you may possibly like my other stories. of course, those are a little or maybe very Zutara inclined, so... it's up to you I guess. If anyone followed this story from my others, or from my Fairy Tail side of the pond, thanks for doing so. I love knowing people love my writing so much. And please, I promise, this won't deter me from updating TEQ. It is my main story right now, and I really want to get through with it. Now, onto the reading...  
><strong>disclaimer: <strong>i just like ATLA. I don't own this challenge either.  
><strong>songs: <strong>Magic by Coldplay.

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><p><span>- The Kindling Memories -<span>

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><p>prompt. one. fire.<p>

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><p><em>thy kiss of fire<em>

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><p>

Iroh remembered it well.

Zuko did, too.

However, they both remembered the event differently by a magnitude of things that at the end were distinct but tied together nicely.

/

For the boy it was a wonder.

/

Most of the time he had been frustrated that other boys his age were getting masters to train their firebending.

He was angry.

The young six year old had yet to show any signs of bending. Although he was young, he knew that it was expected of him at this age. His lineage was filled with firebenders with incredible feats, tremendous achievements. He... he was late.

Or at least that was what his father told him.

"Zuko," he said everyday at breakfast, "when will you make us proud?"

His mother was different. She always was.

"Zuko," she called softly, "turtle ducks learn to swim with time."

Lu Ten always laughed.

"You've always been a slow learner."

Uncle Iroh simply smiled and said something weird.

"A bird allows the wind to guide him."

His sister didn't voice her opinions. She just looked at him with mirth. His grandfather was the same.

So after a while, Zuko refrained from telling the others of his worries and just concentrated on bending.

/

The man watched the frustrated little boy.

Every day he would come and sit across the pond, meditating. Iroh would watch him from the other side, wondering when his nephew would let the river follow its rhythm.

In the afternoons, during tea, the child would sit down reluctantly, following his routine, to focus on his internal fire. It was amusing to watch at first, but after the first few weeks Iroh had started to notice how much it disturbed the young boy that he had yet to firebend.

Zuko, as hotheaded as he was showed a remarkable determination. It was a source of pride for Iroh, but it also worried him that this boy—this really young boy with such a tenacious spirit—was leaning more into his father's envious side.

He saw it everyday, when Zuko played with other children whom had mastered a few things.

The boy would watch them from the corner of his eye, a frown marring his features. He had become colder to his cousin, Lu Ten, too. Little by little, he was beginning to let his frustration seep into anger that was slowly growing into envy.

But Iroh had faith in him.

Zuko had a very bright spirit—much like his mother's—that pushed away the ire. He saw that every time Zuko commented to other children (although slightly jealous) in true honesty that it had been a very good trick with fire.

He concluded that only time would tell what path Zuko would follow.

Of course, firebending was a very important factor to every royal son or daughter.

It could infuse anger or passion or warmth in a person.

/

Iroh hoped it was a thing of time.

/

One day, Zuko gave up.

That was it.

He stood, in the middle of meditating, and started walking back into the palace.

It was useless and he felt like crying.

Zoku didn't understand at all. And he was scared. He felt small, very small, and there was a burn in his eyes, the angry trail of hot tears rimming his eyes. He was walking, but at the feeling of desperation that filled him helplessly he had started to walk faster and faster until his steps were barely there and his eyes were downcast as he ran and ran to escape the overwhelming copious amount of sadness that brimmed his chest and left him breathless as he traversed the halls to his chambers. He was giving up.

And he was so so sad.

_It was sad._

That was until he bumped into someone and fell backwards.

Quickly—_like all children do_—he scrubbed at his eyes harshly to erase any trace of his pain.

He felt the wetness at the back of his hands, and he determinedly looked away from whomever he had walked into, trying to remain impassive as he stood in wary, shaken legs and refused to meet the heavy gaze before him.

"Prince Zuko."

He knew that voice. It was his uncle.

"What?" he said brazenly.

"Would you join me for some tea?"

Zuko knew he had seen. His uncle had seen him crying. So he nodded.

/

Once they had reached the gardens, Iroh noticed that the boy had yet to meet his eyes.

Their whole walk had been silent and Zuko seemed to hate being so close to the spot where he just ran from.

Silently, the man placed two cups of tea before him, accommodating the tea pot comfortably among half burnt rocks of ember. He did not light it, but watched his nephew instead.

After a moments loss of words, he decided to speak.

"Prince Zuko."

"Yes."

"Would you light the rocks for me?"

/

Zuko shook his head.

/

"May I know why not?"

Zuko looked up angrily.

"You know why."

/

Iroh sighed. Then he smiled.

"Would you please give it a try?"

The boy was hesitant. He seemed fearful.

"Please?" his uncle insisted.

/

A few seconds passed. Then he nodded, albeit reluctantly.

/

He was not truly focusing.

Zuko was still too sad.

So without a second thought, he flashed his fingers and touched the embers.

/

For the briefest of moments he imagined what fire must be like. He wondered of its touch, wondered of its heat. He pictured it on the palm of his hands, and then he imagined himself never being able to bend.

It was such a heartbreaking image that he wanted to cry again.

But it was what made the next instance so memorable.

/

The was a flicker of something in his chest. The slight trickle of golden light poured through his hand, a bright soft glow that ignited red spontaneously.

It was a flame.

A small flame that kissed his palm and licked his fingers teasingly when he shifted the movement.

Tenderly, it caressed the air and remained steady against the wind.

It felt wonderful.

Zuko watched it in amazement.

Slowly but carefully, he lowered his hand to the embers and watched the fire coat itself in a stronger scarlet glow.

/

Zuko laughed.

/

Iroh gazed at him for a long moment as he excitedly ran from his sit and called for his mother.

His amber eyes trailed after the boy, a smile on his features for as long as he ran through the halls excitedly.

/

When Zuko returned with Ursa on one hand, there was a brightness on his face that matched that of his own fire.

/

Both Iroh and Zuko remember perfectly that they celebrated to tea.


End file.
